


So Much More Than I Can Carry

by Daisy1600



Series: Locked In Series [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bullying, Child Abuse, Depression, Domestic Violence, Happy Ending, High School AU, Homophic slurs, Homophobia, M/M, PTSD, Prequel, Prequel to Locked In, Self-Hatred, Thoughts of Self-harm, Thoughts of Suicide, Whump, Wrestling, past relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2018-12-25 23:09:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12046230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daisy1600/pseuds/Daisy1600
Summary: The prequel toLocked InBucky has been in a secret relationship with his best friend Steve for a few months, when his abusive uncle comes to the realization that all those nights he stayed out late or didn't come home at all were because he was seeing someone.And Bucky, in the heat of the moment, makes a deal with his uncle. He cuts all ties with his secret boyfriend and Zemo won't go after him.(It will have a happy ending, I promise).





	1. Chapter 1

"You sure you can't stay for another hour?" Steve questioned, watching his lover dress from where he lay in bed, tired and worn out from the quickie they'd just had. 

"I really wish I could stay the night after all that we did.. but I know my uncle will be suspicious if I'm out till midnight for the third night this week." Bucky replied as he zipped up his jeans and made a grab for his shirt that lay atop the blond's bed. But before he could grab the faded band tee, Steve had already taken it and hidden it beneath the sheets that cover his bare skin. 

"Babe, I mean it. I really do have to go or else Zemo is gonna- He's probably already had a bit to drink and it's best not to aggravate him. You seriously shoulda seen the way he was looking at me when I came home at one in the morning on Tuesday. It was almost like he could tell exactly what I'd gotten down to that night.." 

He felt his insides twist into a knot at the sight of his.. best friend and lover's face dropping. It hurt even more when the boy hid his face in the pillows and pretended everything was all right and that he didn't feel just a little bit let down every time they slept together and the long haired junior had to leave not twenty minutes later. Which happened to be how things have been working out ever since spring break ended and school started back up again. 

Steve slowly and hesitantly pulled the shirt out from under his bedsheets and handed it back over to Bucky without once meeting his eyes. "Yeah, I get it Buck. I just- I really miss you. I miss being able to hold after we.. y'know." 

"Have amazing sex?" He supplied helpfully, causing the blond to break out into an adorable, shy little smile he buried his face in the pillows to try and conceal. He slipped the cotton band tee over his head and proceeded to sit beside his friend on the bed. "But in all seriousness, I also really miss you too and wish I could stay after we.. make love to hold you close for longer than just twenty minutes." 

The younger boy lifted his head from the pillows and smiled sadly, reaching out to lace his fingers through those of his best friend and lover. "I know you do, babe.. and I'm probably just overreacting to everything and blowing things out of proportion, but, uh.. yeah." 

"I'll make it up to you, Stevie. I promise." He said sincerely before leaning across the shorter boy's body to plant a sweet, lingering kiss on his lips. 

"See you at school, Buck. I love you." 

"I love you too, baby." Now it was his turn to feel sad and maybe just a little bit empty inside as he pressed another kiss to Steve's lips and felt the boy's hands grip tightly at the fabric of his shirt when he tried pulling away. 

He let out a breathy laugh, placing both hands on either side the blond's handsome face and somehow managing to keep himself from getting sidetracked and kissing him silly as he looked directly into his sad blue eyes. "Don't look so sad, Steve. I'll see you in prison- uh, school in just a few hours." 

"See ya then, I guess." His friend replied, leaning in to kiss him once more before he had to escape through the window to avoid waking the boy's guardian. He only glanced back at the younger's form after every painful step he took toward the large window conveniently located beside a huge tree.

"Bye." He smiled sadly at the blond boy, watching him grab a pillow that rested beside his head and pull it close to his chest. He wished with all his heart that he could stay longer and hold his lover close to him, bask in the warmth that no doubt radiated off his form after they exerted themselves to the fullest extent. 

And with that, he lifted up the relatively large window and climbed out onto the small section of roof that lay beneath it. He then turned back toward the window, looking through the smudgy glass and observing closely as Steve pulled the standard size pillow impossibly closer to his chest, pressing his face into it and digging his fingers into it's fluffy body. He couldn't tell if he was crying or just trying to find something to comfort him after having an emotional and physical bonding experience with him. It wasn't their first time, nor did it last very long, but that did _not_ mean it wasn't special to them all the same. 

Every moment, every touch, every kiss they shared was emotionally grounding, yet at the same time made Bucky feel as though he were about to explode from how much of himself he shared with the younger. They'd been friends since the beginning of middle school, Steve being the one to awaken all thoughts of.. being with another male. He'd suppressed said feelings for the longest time until very recently when his friend had come out to him as gay. That's when everything changed. That's when he gathered his thoughts a few months back and visited the blond's house on a late Friday night when his guardian Abraham wasn't home, and confessed his feelings to him in the dark of his bedroom. They'd kissed many times that night, even going so far as to go _all_ the way and work out their frustrations as well as their deepest desires.

It wasn't like they hadn't had moments before they consummated when they were doing the most menial of tasks, such as Spanish homework they'd been assigned by Ms. Hill, or possibly even just eating lunch in the cafeteria, and one of them would look up, catching the others eye before quickly darting theirs away. Hell, there was even that one.. okay, _many times_ , they'd went to the beach together and there was just this.. air of unresolved sexual and romantic tension. In short, they'd both felt the signs of attraction many months before his late night confession.  
Years, even. 

So, yeah. It wasn't too big of a surprise when they'd ended up on Steve's bed, Bucky slowly kissing up and down his neck until he'd found his pulse point and focused on making him gasp out in pain and pleasure as he nibbled at the warm skin. His hands trembling as they slowly and hesitantly traveled up the younger's shirt until the blond urged him to continue, his blunt fingernails creating crescent shaped indentations in his back through the material of his sweatshirt that was quickly discarded along with his shoes and socks. The emotionally moving experience was still oh-so fresh in his adolescent mind, and he carried the memory around everywhere he went. Never once wanting to forget the sounds and confessions that spilled from the other boy's lips as they embraced in such a way that could only be described as making love. It wasn't too quick, too slow, too hard, or too fast. It felt just right once they got the hang of things and learned what exactly the other liked and disliked. 

The memory of their first time pained him like nothing else as he turned away from the window and proceeded to grab ahold of the tree beside him and climb down it one branch at a time. He made sure to bend his knees and try landing as softly and quietly as possible as he made the four foot jump from the last branch to the hard packed dirt below. He managed to only stumble a few steps as his stinging feet made impact with Mother Nature's brown creation. He quickly brushed some dirt off of his jeans and kept quiet as he darted down the street to where he'd parked his car a couple hours ago. 

He made it to the sleek black vehicle within a minute, choosing to forgo using the loud clicker to unlock it and opted for using his physical key instead. Since it was really late at night -nearly enough to be classified as being early morning-, he kept his headlights off as he very slowly and cautiously made his way down the street devoid of any activity such as people walking around or cars driving past. Once he was in the clear and two streets away from the one Steve and his guardian Abraham lived on, he turned his headlights back on and decided on popping in a CD to keep him company on the fairly short ride home. 

It was ten minutes later that he turned his headlights back off and parked in his uncle's driveway, unbuckling himself to let out a shaky breath and lean his forehead against the steering wheel, hands tangled in his hair as he silently prayed to not have to go inside the building. It was way past midnight and his uncle was bound to be rather unhappy with him showing up so late for the third time that week. Not only did he have a huge secret he was keeping from Zemo, but he also had someone to protect.  
He loved Steve with every fiber of his being and would do anything for him in a heartbeat without ever stopping once to think about how he may feel about being protected. He knew his friend could take care of himself if need be, since he was the best wrestler on the team at school, but if he had the option to keep him away from his own home life and violent uncle.. well, he'd damn well choose to follow through with it. Even if he'd have to push him out of his life to do so. 

Keeping all that in mind, he slipped his key out of the ignition and painfully slowly opened the door. The second his boots made contact with the concrete of his driveway he wanted to jump right back in his vehicle and drive far, far away with his.. friend. Get away from his toxic, abusive uncle and never look back. But he knew that that wasn't an option, as he was still in high school, and Steve had a loving guardian and a life of his own. He didn't need Bucky dragging him down into his sea of problems, possibly even ruining his own life in the process. He took a shaky breath, shutting the door as quietly as he possibly could before he began taking slow and heavy steps toward the front door of his moderately sized house. 

The white picket fence that surrounded him and his front yard made him sick. There was nothing _normal_ about his family. So why lie to the world by putting up this facade to make people think that they were the perfect little family, that Zemo wasn't a homophobic, abusive, alcoholic. That his _real_ family, who loved him dearly no matter what, didn't die tragically in a house fire when he was a child. When he just so happened to be at school. 

He quite vividly remembers a police officer named Alexander sitting him down in the principles office and letting him down easy. Even allowing him to cry into his shoulder until he ran out of tears and he was nothing but a dehydrated mess wearing a shock blanket. And that's when the officer contacted his uncle, and Zemo came to pick him up. He's lived with him ever since, but the.. the anger and aggression only started once he entered middle school. Right around the time he first met Steve. He didn't like to admit it to himself often, but the boy saved him in more ways than one. 

Zemo's.. aggression wasn't based off the fact that Bucky happened to be interested in people of the same sex, but rather everything else about him. He knew nothing about his relationship with Steve, and he'd like to keep it that way. But seeing as the way things have been going lately.. his uncle might already have an inkling as to why he's been staying out late and coming home past midnight with a scared, guilty look in his eye. It felt as though the guy could read him like an open book, see right through his lies and the mask he wears to protect himself and his friend. And it's only a matter of time before he finds out about everything and gives him the beatdown of his life. Shows him no mercy as he spews insults at him while his hands bruise and batter him. 

It was usually fairly easy -well, not impossible- to lie straight to Steve's face as they got intimate, and tell him the marks are from doing parkour or wrestling. He usually believed him, not putting up too much of an argument when Bucky just kept denying that anything bad had happened to him. Especially not when he was pressing his lips and hands to the younger's hot to the touch skin, making him feel loved and wanted as their conversation died down and their breathing sped up. 

He made it up the last step of the porch and slid his key into the lock, twisting it and wincing at the squeaky sound the door emitted when he pushed it open. Upon stepping foot in his house, his heart rate sped up and his anxiety spiked. He tried controlling his breathing as he shut the door and it continued squeaking some more. There's no way in hell Zemo didn't hear _that_ from whatever room he was in. He slipped his keys back into his front pocket and headed toward the living room where the staircase was located. He'd almost made it to the landing, about to begin walking up the wooden steps when his uncle's voice pierced through the quiet of the house. Effectively making his eyes moisten the slightest bit, his hands shake, and his breathing stop all together. 

"James, how about you come and greet your uncle like a good little boy, and not the ungrateful son of a bitch you are."

It wasn't a question, it was an order. Zemo was always ordering him around. He should be used to it by now, but every time without fail, the elder managed to make him shake and shiver. Every time he stopped him when walking past, or looked at him for longer than necessary, he thought: _This is it. He knows about my secret, about my best friend, and he's going to kill the both of us._

He's had his fair share of moments at school when he thought that someone was going to beat him up pretty bad in wrestling practice, or a fight. But never, not in a _single_ one of those did he ever think he was going to die. But when he came home every day and saw his uncle sitting in that leather arm chair of his.. it was like he knew for certain that that evil, evil man would one day be his demise. That he'd find out about his and Steve's relationship and kill them both.

He took small steps toward his uncle, trying his best not to fall into panic as he neared the man who was only a couple of inches taller than him. He's sure that one day he'll tower over him, but it won't make him feel any bigger in the sense that he could take him on. When you've been yelled at, beaten on, and kicked around since you were only tall enough to reach someone's waist.. you feel as though you'll never really be _big_ enough to face them. Bravery is not measured in inches, but rather in how you stand your ground no matter what size you are. Bucky felt anything but brave as he stopped a couple of feet in front of the armchair in which his uncle sat in. 

Zemo began speaking, and as he did so, Bucky could smell the all too familiar putrid stench of the alcohol that was being emitted from his mouth. "Care to clue me in as to where you've been all night. Or maybe where you've been all week. Where it is you stay for hours and hours after school let's out. Why you think you can sneak out at night and I won't notice." His uncle's voice sounded a lot less threatening than usual, but his facial expression and stiff body language gave away what his true intentions were. 

He tried keep a blank expression and attempted to refrain from fidgeting as he cooked up a big fat lie in that scared, traumatized head of his. But it was no use as he began to perspire and swallow harshly. "I was just studying at at a friend's house. Lost track of time and fell asleep on the floor for a couple of hours. It won't- it won't happen again, sir." 

Zemo suddenly got to his feet, muscles tensed, flexed, and ready to inflict damage if he so desired. It made Bucky back up a couple of feet, his uncle's large hand reaching out to grab ahold of his bicep, grip painfully bruising.  
The junior wasn't the only wrestler in the family. 

"How about you try again. And this time not **LIE TO MY FACE!** " His uncle shouted as loudly as he'd dare, making the long haired boy's lips quiver and his eyes well up with tears he wouldn't dare shed. It'd only lead to getting a worse beating. 

"I-I was hanging out with some friends.. and- and-" He got blunt nails dug into his muscled bicep, his wrist of the same arm being twisted with great force. Enough to make him cry out in pain and fall to his knees on the hardwood flooring, his arm still twisted in an uncomfortable position that made it feel as if it'd snap in half at any given moment. 

"Do you think I'm an idiot, James! Do you think I would be enough of a dumbass prick to believe your lame excuses!" 

A large boot was suddenly being pressed into his ribs as he laid on his front, arm now being pulled on and twisted straight behind his back so hard it felt like it was being ripped from its socket. He shrieked in pain, letting out quiet puffs of air from his mouth as he tightly clenched his teeth together to keep from screaming even louder as he struggled to form words

"I- I've been seeing a girl. T-that's why I've been coming home late and.. and sneaking out sometimes." 

His uncle's boot was suddenly lifted off of his ribs, the steel toe coming right back to kick him in the same spot. He gasped in pain, clutching at the arm that'd been released sometime during the brutal attack. 

Zemo tangled a fist in his long locks of hair, blunt, yet still somehow jagged, nails digging into his scalp as he yanked hard, forcing him to his unsteady feet. 

The older man seethed with anger as he leaned in close to sniff his shirt, hands still gripping hard at his hair. Then he shoved him back to the floor, his back falling against the coffee table by the small couch in front of the TV. He couldn't make a sound, as there was a remote pressing into his spine, making him see stars from how god damn much his body ached and burned for everything to just _stop_. He's sure that by now he has got to have a boot print shaped bruise covering his ribs as well as some lasting damage to his wrist and shoulder he couldn't stop touching, even as he lay sprawled across the wooden table. 

"You don't smell like perfume, James. You smell like **cologne**. And it's not yours. You're seeing a _boy_ , aren't you." Just like everything else Zemo ever asks him, it wasn't voiced as a question. He already knew the answer to his queries and just wanted to watch his nephew suffer trying to lie his way through life. 

He didn't reply, just stayed quiet as he breathed shallowly. If he were to.. to tell his uncle who it was he was seeing.. it'd likely end with Steve getting the beating of his life. Zemo is the type of guy who wouldn't care if the kid's guardian was a lawyer, he'd break him in half and leave him for dead. Which in turn would leave Bucky dead. He'd want to die- would already _be_ dead if not for the other boy. Because he would've jumped off a ledge long ago if not for his friendship and love. Steve.. he's the only good thing he's got going for him. Sure, he has a couple of casual friends that he talks to a little bit every now and then, such as Scott, Natasha, or Clint, but they don't seem like they're.. mmm, _all there_.

A fist wrapped around his throat told him that the man wanted an answer. Wanted to hear him come out and say that he was.. interested in members of the same sex and was seeing a boy.  
Basically wanted him to give him one more reason to hate him and abuse him on the daily. 

" **AREN'T YOU!** " screamed the drunk bastard with his fist squeezing tighter and tighter until Bucky felt as though he was wrestling Bruce Banner, the kid who had some serious anger issues he liked taking out on others. The only difference between the two things were that he knew he wouldn't be killed during a fight with him because there was a referee to supervise them. But alone at home with his uncle was a whole different story. He's damn well sure he could take on Zemo.. but at the same time he feels as though he can't. He's small and scared when around him.  
He feels twelve again. 

Fighting against the darkness bleeding into his peripheral vision, he manages to nod the slightest bit. Which angered his uncle. Causing him to lift him by the neck and slam his back directly into a nearby wall, which just so happened to be by the fireplace. His back made contact with the strip of jagged brick wall and his teeth instinctively sunk deep into his lip to try and keep him from screaming in pain. 

" **Aren't you**." The man seethed, finally releasing the bruising grip he had on his neck and throat. 

He coughed and gasped for a long moment, bending at the waist with hands bracing themselves atop his thighs as he no longer had the strength to stand up on his own. 

"Y-yes.." he managed to whisper through the lump in his throat and the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. 

"So I was right. You're nothing but a useless faggot with nothing to live for and nobody to love you. Sometimes- no, all the time, I wish you had burned to death along with your parents. 'Cause you know what, James? **I blame you**. You're the reason my own _sister_ died!" He tangled his fingers in Bucky's hair to raise him back to his full height before backhanding him across the face. 

"You better give me your goddamn phone so I can track down this disgusting, unholy, son of a bitch you're screwing around with and show him what happens when you mess with a Barnes. When you push your gay shit onto someone and think you can get away with it. I will kill him, James. And you're going to watch as I skin him alive. Right before I do the same to you, you unholy freak." 

"N-no. I-I won't." He whimpered out, still feeling the effects of that bitch slap he'd just received. Whether the actual sting came from the insults that were thrown his way or the actual slap itself, he couldn't tell. "I will _never_ give him up." 

A knee to the stomach, an elbow to the spine as he stands bent in half once more, and a leg sweep later, he's left lying on the floor not able to move due to how much pain he was in.  
Why couldn't he just stand up for himself for once? 

"Either you fucking tell me who this grotesque little fag fuck buddy of yours is, or I go through your phone and find out myself. It's your choice, James." 

After a minute spent recuperating, he began to slowly crawl away from his uncle. He should've seen the steel toed boot to his stomach coming by now, but he didn't, and ended up right where he started. Barely able to breathe as he curled up in a ball and tried not to let anymore than a few tears escape his eyes. 

" **Tell me**!" 

"Never." 

"Then give me your phone, faggot." 

"I'd rather take the worst beating of my life than _ever_ let you anywhere near him." A few angry, hot tears escaped his eyes, sliding down his cheeks and into his mouth. They tasted of salt and mucus. But the awful taste could not compare to the one he got from thinking of his best friend and lover getting hurt by the man who haunts his dreams. 

On cold winter nights when it rained cats and dogs and he held Steve close to keep him safe from himself, the images, and the vivid memories that were instilled in his mind from a young age, it wasn't just to comfort the blond, but himself as well. He too had vivid memories of horrid experiences that stayed with him night and day. Haunting him whenever he closed his eyes, heard loud noises, or shouts. The only time he could ever escape the madness was when he was with him. He kept him sane, safe, and alive. And now he would have to do the exact same thing for him. Even if it meant he'd have to completely push him out of his life to do so. 

"Give me the fucking phone, James. Or I _will_ have to break every bone in your God damn **body**." 

Before he could even _think_ of saying no again, his uncle already had a hand in his back pocket. Searching for his phone and finding it on his first try. He soon got the large device thrown at his face when Zemo realized that it needed a passcode. He didn't have his fingerprint saved on the device, decided months ago when he first got it that he didn't ever want his uncle to find out what goes on in his personal life. In the beginning, when things between himself and Steve were amazing, he knew a day like this would come. He never liked to think of it, always tried keeping it on the back burner, but he knew that one day he'd have his heart ripped out. Knew that he'd rip his best friend's heart out, too.  
And the knowledge that he'd have to do such a thing to the boy.. it hurt him more than any injury his uncle's ever inflicted on him. 

"Guess this means we're taking the broken bone route, you disappointment of a human being." He sent a rough kick to his left flank. "Pussy." Another kick to the ribs. " _Murderer_." A dozen stomps on his poor, abused stomach that contracted with every hit he took. " **Faggot!** " And for the grand finale, an elbow and all of Zemo's body weight free falling into his stomach that caused all of the air to escape his body before it was all being painfully sucked back in small bursts.  
He was too tuckered out to do anything but moan and sob in misery. 

_Am I going to die?_ , he asked himself, not quite knowing the answer as he lay shaking in absolute _terror_ for what's to come. 

He suddenly felt his his bruised and battered body being flipped over, his chin making slight contact with the hardwood floor. Then, all at once, one of his legs was being crossed over the other, Zemo now sitting atop his lower back and bringing his legs toward himself. Pulling harder and harder until he felt like his leg or back was going to snap in half. He's done this exact submission hold with plenty of guys and gals on the roster, and they've done the same to him, but none of them were quite as painful as this one. The amount of pressure his uncle was putting on his entire body was just too much to handle.  
If he could tap out and avoid having to tell the man the name of the guy he's seeing, he would. But that's not how it works in the real world. Here in the real world, you don't always get what you want. You can try, try with all your might, but your hopes and dreams for a better life will no doubt be ripped from your grasp one day.  
His are slowly being torn from his body, taking his depressed, heartbroken soul with them.

"L-let's make a deal.." he said, struggling to form words as he lies helpless beneath the crushing weight of his uncle's six-foot tall frame. 

"Would this deal happen to be tell me his name or I _will_ snap your shin in half. Possibly even even fracture a vertebra on this flexible back of yours that can only take so much before it lets go completely." 

He had to make the decision now. He's had the idea in his head for a while now, just in case. But he wasn't sure if he really wanted to do this to his best friend and himself. It'd end in heartbreak for the both of them, but in the heat of the moment where it felt as if his leg was about to snap, he couldn't think rationally. Couldn't think clearly about how everything would effect Steve. How sad and depressed it would leave the boy he loved so much feeling.  
So he fought hard to get the words past his clenched teeth. 

"I- I'll never contact him a-again, if you just.. drop everything and- and not go through my phone. I will never visit him again. Never.. never even talk to him, I swear."  
It all must've sounded like one huge lie to his uncle, but it was all true. Well, at least that's what he _thought_ was true in that moment.  
He'd later find out just how much he'd be.. talking to his friend. 

His back and leg were still being worn down and worked on big time as his uncle spoke up from where he sat atop his lower back. "You'll stop pretending to be a fucking fairy for attention, right James." 

And as much as it pained him to stoop to his uncle's level, he acquiesced. "Yes.. Yes, sir. There will be no m-more of that." 

After a long moment of silence, he was released from the hold. Legs hitting the hardwood floor and making his knees smack right into the bruising surface. He let out shallow breaths, trying not to make too much noise as he lay there feeling every bit of his uncle's beatdown. His field of vision darkened around his peripheral, and when he thought he was about to pass out for the night, Zemo grabbed the phone off the floor where it lay undamaged. 

"You're not getting _this_ back until you're done being grounded for a month. I hope you've learned your lesson about experimenting with the likes of- With the Devil's creation that is homosexuality, James." 

He didn't reply, couldn't, and his uncle didn't bother trying to make him, so he allowed himself to slowly shut down and pass out for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

He woke up long before his passed out drunk uncle laying in the leather armchair did, and willed himself up the stairs and into the shower where he sat on the floor as a continuous sizzling hot stream of water poured down on him. Turning his purple, blue, green, and red skin a dark shade of pink. He couldn't stop the tears that spilled from his eyes as he thought back to his.. conversation with his uncle the night previous. He'd have to do everything in his power to push his _best friend_ , who's unknowingly been there for him through it all, out of his life for good. He'd have to get rid of his only source of love, happiness, and emotional support. He'd likely fall into- he will fall into an even worse state of depression and misery without Steve in his life. 

He would never again be all right without his best friend in his life, but it seemed to be the only way to keep him from getting hurt. 

With that in mind, he sat beneath the steady stream of boiling hot water for another five minutes. Crying the entire time. And even as he got dressed and snuck downstairs and past his uncle, headed toward his car parked outside the house, he continued to cry, and cry, and _cry_. 

His sobs that alternated between being loud and _really loud_ quieted down as he pulled into the school's parking lot. Just like he always did, he showed up a good twenty-five minutes before school started. And you know who else happened to do the same thing? 

He knew the answer already, but couldn't stop himself from sighing at the sight of the powder blue car parked ten spaces away from him. Steve wasn't in the car, meaning he was likely enough already in the dingy looking building, switching out the books in his backpack for the ones in his locker while waiting for him to arrive. 

He leaned his head against the steering wheel for a long minute, sucking in deep, ragged breaths of air and releasing them shakily. He repeated the action until he could breathe without his throat constantly locking up and his shoulders quaking. He flipped the visor the hangs above his head down, lifting the mirror's cover and staring at the lit up mess in front of him. Steve will no doubt notice the dried tear tracks on his face as well as the inch and a half cut on his cheek he hadn't noticed until he showered that morning, the long sleeves on his body he wouldn't usually wear in spring, and his blotchy face. 

And, knowing his best friend, there's no way he'd be able to hide the sorrow in his eyes and his awkward gait caused from getting the shit kicked out of him. The scalding hot shower he'd taken had managed to alleviate the worst of his pain, but he still felt a dull ache everywhere. His throat hurt the least out of every injured part of his body. It merely felt a bit sore from him being choked until he nearly passed out. And now that he thinks of it, that sounds _terrible_. It's the worst he's been beat-up in.. as long as he could remember. 

He'd just have to make it to the bathroom and wash his face before he inevitably bumps into the blond and has to ignore him. Or maybe he'll have to vocally break things off with him. That sounds like one hell of a painful conversation, but if it's what needed to be done.. he'd have to suck it up and try and let him down easy without crying. Crying would mean he cared about him. Which is something he's not allowed to show the younger any longer. He's not allowed to know how much he loves him and wants to marry him one day. 

He unbuckles his seatbelt before opening his car door and shutting it with as little force as possible, seeing as he didn't have any strength left in his broken-down body. If he had any, he would've slammed the door as hard as he possibly could've. 

Shaking his head to rid himself of all the depressing thoughts, he trundled over to the front steps of the school and held on tight to the railing to keep from keeling over and dying right then and there. He hesitantly pushed open the big, heavy doors and stumbled over to a row of lockers to keep himself in an upright position. Chancing a glance around the corner, he saw no sign of his friend. He must've already exchanged his books, which meant he was likely enough in the bathroom. But, just to be sure, he checked around the other corner, letting his eyes slide shut and a soft sigh escape his lips when he deemed the coast to be clear. 

He walked as quickly as he dared to over to his own locker, which happened to be dangerously close to Steve's, and the bathroom he was no doubt inside of. Waiting for him to arrive at school and greet him with a bright smile, bringing him into a warm embrace with both his arms and lips, apologies for having to leave not long after they slept together the night previous falling from the his lips before the blond could get a word in. 

Trying not to let his withering heart fall into the pit of his stomach, he listened carefully to the sound of a toilet flushing in the bathroom as he speedily entered his locker combination, cursing under his breath when he messed it up and had to start over. He managed to grab the backpack he'd left in there the day before, lock the thing back up, and run toward his first period class he didn't share with the blond before the bathroom door opened. He rapped his knuckles against the wooden door with a blurry glass panel on the upper section of it, hoping against hope his science teacher was in already. He should be, considering school starts in less than twenty. He let out a sigh of relief when the door opened to reveal Mr. Stark. 

The man who usually wore some form of tinted eyeglasses he made sure to take off before class, nodded at him, offering a soft 'Morning' in greeting. He didn't miss the way his teacher's eyes lingered on his form, taking in his current state and zeroing in on the scabbing cut on his cheek before clearing his throat and going back around to his large desk in the front of the room where he sat down and began tidying up some papers that lay strewn across the dark wooden surface. 

Bucky walked past his usual seat in favor of taking one in the back of the room by a trashcan that was in dire need of getting its contents dumped out. It wasn't the most pleasant smelling thing in the world, but it was better then being front and center in a forty-five minute long class that one of his casual friends, Clint, was usually partnered up with him in. He didn't need the kid asking him any questions about why he looked like crap and had a relatively fresh cut running across his cheek. 

"Are you all right, Barnes? You're not sitting in your usual seat by the front of the class." Asked a slightly concerned Mr. Stark who stood not three feet away from his desk. 

His presence startled Bucky, bringing him out of his distracting thoughts and reminding him of just how out of it he must've appeared to others. Especially his science teacher who's known him since freshman year. He ran a hand through his long locks, trying to covertly flip his hair over to one side and cover up the telling mark on his face. "I'm fine, Mr. Stark. Just.. I've had a rough day, and I'd rather not get into things." 

The elder nodded slowly, humming quietly in thought. "If you're having problems at home, or if there's a bully getting physical with you, I would recommend visiting the guidance counselor to get help." 

He tried not to worry his lip too harshly as he blinked slowly, feeling his chest tighten and his throat restrict at the thought of telling somebody- an _adult_ about his situation. He would _not_ allow himself to cry in front of his usually fairly reserved teacher. Would not let himself appear small and weak in the eyes of anyone other than the man who made him the way he is. Zemo handcrafted him into the cowardly, unconfident, fucked up mess of a human being he is. 

He felt a tear slip down his cheek and quickly mopped it up with the sleeve of his shirt as he nodded the slightest bit. "I can fight my own battles." He whispered out of fear that if he spoke any louder he'd break the dam, burst into tears and never again be able to put up the facade he used to mask his inner darkness and despair. The white picket fence around his heart, you could say. 

Mr. Stark sighed softly, coming closer to crouch down beside Bucky and place a big, warm hand on his back. "Thing is, you don't have to do it alone, Barnes. I hope you see reason in my concern and bring up whatever your.. situation is with the counselor. I may not know exactly what it is you're going through, but I do know one things for sure; things _will_ get better. But only if you want them to." He finished, patting the junior's back a couple of times before making his way toward the front of the class to take a seat behind his desk once again. 

Students began filing in through the door not long after their mainly one-sided conversation. 

He made it through the lengthy class without getting too many questions about his current state from Clint, who, upon entering the room, caught sight of him and ran toward the back to partner up with him.  
There was really no such thing as getting a break around here, was there?

-

After first period ended and second block was about to begin in less than twelve minutes, he remembered that Steve had the same class as him. Meaning that they'd both need to go to their lockers to grab the books needed for algebra. Or he could always just skip class to avoid having to look at his best friend he's no longer supposed to be in any sort of contact with. He couldn't bare seeing the sadness in the blond's big blue eyes if he were to show up and ignore him as best he could. It'd be far too painful.. Plus, there's no way he could put up an act so soon after making a deal with the devil to completely push the younger out of his life. How could he possibly pretend to be happy without his.. without his number one? The greatest thing-or rather, person, he's had in his life since he could remember. 

He took a different route than he usually did to escape the school and head out to his car where he'd lay down in the back seats and flash back to all that they've done in the vehicle. The places they've gone together in it.. Whether that be sexual or just driving out to the beach together, it didn't matter. The car was special, and the black paint on it happened to match his mood perfectly. 

The depressing color completely contradicted all the happy memories that were made in it, but, as he lifted his head enough to see out the windows in the back seats, he caught sight of Steve's powder blue car and had to smile at how much the hue complimented the memories made in the vehicle. They'd spent the better part of their lives together, making each other feel things they've never felt for another human being as well as being the best friend a boy could ask for. As much as it pains him, drives a steak through his heart, Bucky knows it's for the best that they.. break things off and go their separate ways. 

It's the _only_ way to keep Steve safe, he tells himself. He repeated the phrase like a mantra until his throat was dry as a desert and he was once again on the brink of tears. He wouldn't allow any more to fall as he pulled himself together and left the confines of his torture chamber filled with so much sentimental value it _hurt_. 

Instead of kicking the shit out of the back tires of it like he wanted to, he slumped against the hood of the car for a long moment, wishing his uncle wasn't a piece of crap, and that love didn't hurt so much to lose. Guess you can't always get what you want. 

He still wondered how Mr. Stark could lie straight to his face and tell him that things will get better. He's losing the love of his life and.. a piece of himself. Things will **never** get better. He was about to release his long locks of hair from the tight grip he had 'em in when the loud sound of footsteps approaching from he didn't know where stopped beside him, the person casting a shadow over the hood of the car and himself. 

"You all right, Bucky? I was- I just parked and.. you okay? Need me to call someone to come and get you?" Asked his third period history teacher, Mr. Parker. He sounded concerned, which wasn't out of the ordinary, as he cared about the well being of all of his students and had close, yet still professional, relationships with the majority of them. 

He disentangled his fingers from his hair and turned to face the history buff, a neutral expression on his face and his hair covering the cut on his cheek. He must've looked ridiculous, what with all the hair covering half his face, but his history teacher didn't comment on it. Merely inspected him more closely, fingers gripping tightly at the cup of coffee in his hand. "I'm fine, Mr. Parker. I was just.. I have a bit of a headache, and I was trying to.." 

"Trying to what?" 

"I was just trying to.. lower my head to, uh, lower its elevation." 

"Uh huh.. Well, if you have a headache I suggest visiting the nurses office and not cutting class to hide out by your car." His teacher replied, adjusting the strap of the brown satchel slung over one of his shoulders. 

"Well, uh, thanks for the advice, Mr. P." Bucky worked up a closed mouth smile, trying his hand at making the whole situation feel a teensy bit less awkward. 

"Right.. Well, how about I escort you? To the nurses office, that is. I don't mean to be the 'uncool' teacher, but Fury would have my _head_ if I found a student trying to skip out on school and didn't step in and try to do something about it." 

"No, I get it. You have a job to do. I wasn't actually trying to skip school anyway." 

"Just second period, right?" Mr. Parker said, the jab accompanied by a wry smile.

"Yeah, actually." He replied, gesturing for the well dressed man to lead the way toward the steps of the school. If he walked ahead of him, he might just see how strangely he's walking and start asking more questions. 

"Avoiding someone now, aren't we? Would it happen to be the same kid who gave you that gnarly scratch on your face?" 

So, looks like the history buff _did_ notice the cut on his face and his efforts to hide it were for not. "Maybe." 

"Well, whoever this.. kid is deserves to be reported to the principal's office to be taken care of by Fury."

Bucky stayed silent, keeping his eyes downcast as he followed the man up the stone steps and in through the doors of the run-down school. Neither of them spoke much on the walk over to the nurses office, since there really wasn't anything _to_ talk about. And as he entered the room, ready to get some antiseptic for the cut on his face and possibly even a painkiller even though he doesn't actually have a headache, Mr. Parker thought of something to say to him. 

"You planning on coming to class later? It starts in thirty." 

Since it was such a short time from now and his teacher already caught him sneaking out of school and cutting class _once_ , he figured it'd be best to show up and just stay hidden in the corner of the room for the history lesson. Even if he did share that class with the boy who's no longer supposed to be his best friend. He'd much rather feel every ounce of heartbreak the world has to offer than risk the school calling home and having his uncle show up, where he could easily figure out who the boy he's seeing is. Was seeing. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll make it." 

"All right, Bucky. But if you really don't feel well enough to attend, I could always call home and have someone come and get you." The concerned look on the elder's face twisted up his insides. He didn't want all of his teachers worrying about him. This was supposed to stay between himself and his uncle. There's no reason to drag anybody else into his mess of a life. Quite frankly, he's trying to do the exact opposite. 

"No! I mean.. that's really not necessary, Mr. P. It's just a minor headache. I'll be there. In class, I mean." 

"You sure you're all right, son?" 

He winced at the term of endearment he hadn't heard since.. it's not important. 

"I should be after I take a Tylenol." 

Mr. Parker looked very hesitant to leave as he stood in the doorway, bag slung over one shoulder and only crinkling his nice dress shirt and vest the slightest bit. He let out a soft sigh, adjusting the strap and bidding the junior farewell. "See you there, kid." 

Bucky let out a sigh of relief at finally getting away from all the concerned faces of his teacher's for a minute. 

When the nurse finally came out of whatever room she was hidden in, she didn't react too much to the cut on his face, just put some antiseptic cream on it as well as three butterfly bandages to keep the cut from splitting wide open. Then he was off on his merry way, only getting told to report the bully who did it for the third time that day. 

-

He waited until the last possible second to grab the books needed for history class from his locker. If he'd went any earlier, Steve no doubt would've been just around the corner waiting for him. He zipped up his backpack about halfway before slinging it over his his shoulder and walking as quickly as his body would allow him toward Mr. Parker's classroom.  
He managed to get through the door right as the bell rung and his teacher was asking everyone to quiet down and take their seats. Bucky pointedly did not look towards the middle of the room where his.. best friend was sitting beside an empty desk that was assigned to him that semester. 

"Buck?" He heard but ignored as he walked right past the boy to sit in the very back of the class where he could barely read the board from. He set all of his crap on the floor and kept his head down even as Steve got up from his seat to sit in the empty desk to his left. "Where the hell have you been all day? You didn't show up early for school, you haven't answered any of my texts, and you missed second period.. I'm worried." His voice softened at the end, and he placed a warm hand on Bucky's knee. Which he quickly shook off after getting over the initial shock. 

They slept together the night previous, and now he's ignoring him like the douchebag he never wanted to be. He always aimed to care for and love the blond, but now it wasn't even an option. He has to do everything in his power to make the other boy hate him and never wish to speak to him again. But could he really go through life without hearing the sweet sound of his voice daily? That's the question that plagued his mind as the boy who's no longer supposed to be his friend let out a shaky breath and tried his hand at gaining his attention once more. 

"Was it something I did? 'Cause if this is about me being too clingy last night-" 

He couldn't hold it in any longer and used the only tactic that might get him to leave him alone. Steve would never put up with someone being mean all the time, so that's exactly what he'd have to do. "Yes, it is. So leave me **alone**." 

It was in that moment that the blond turned enough to finally notice the stark white butterfly bandages on his face, his expression dropping until he was a ghostly shade of white. "What- what happened to your face?" Steve's whispered words were barely audible, and the shaky hand being extended toward his face was suddenly harshly swat down to Bucky's desk. It took a moment, and looking at the tears welling up in his friend's eyes, to realize that _he_ was the one who had smacked his hand away. Even if it wasn't anything too extreme, he still hurt his friend, his lover. And he wasn't proud of it, but he couldn't take it back either. "Come talk to me when you're done being a dick." The younger muttered before getting up from his seat and plopping back down into his assigned one towards the middle of the room. 

Bucky found himself tangling his fingers in his mane of hair, blunt fingernails digging into his scalp, and teeth clenched together in anger. A couple of students glanced back at him, but it wasn't enough to bring him back to present time. He was lost in a swirling storm of regret, and memories of everything that'd gone down the night previous. Not just the horrible, horrible beat down he'd received from Zemo, but the good stuff too. The really, _really_ good stuff. The intense feeling of making love to his b- to his lover, and holding him impossibly close afterwards for a mere twenty minutes. Just the memory of being able to hold him and be close to him was enough to bring tears to his eyes and make it hard to breathe. Because along with the memory came the knowledge that he'd never be able to do that again. 

He may only be seventeen, but the thoughts that plagued his mind were depressing enough to break any man. 

After history, he walked straight past Steve in the hallway and ignored him just as he'd been doing since he parked in the lot that morning. The loud sound of a locker door being slamming shut could be heard from halfway down the long hallway, reverberating throughout his skull and giving him the motivation to speed up his walking pace. 

-

It was now lunchtime, and he'd most definitely be avoiding the cafeteria in favor of sitting behind the bleachers on the football field. If he got bored he could always just watch the seniors practice. But, seeing as the way things have been working out for him lately, he'd likely just be moping around and trying not to cry. 

After sitting behind the bleachers and listening to the loud shouts of the players and the coach for the better part of forty-five minutes, he hesitantly reentered the building and went straight to his locker before lunch ended and Steve could corner him and ask questions about why he's being such a dick and ignoring him. God, it's like his life has turned into a sickeningly stereotypical teenage love story over night. Only difference being his doesn't have a happy ending. There's only pain and suffering down the dark road he's paved for himself. 

He went through the remainder of his classes feeling empty and sad, using sixth period -his free one- to sit in his car and do nothing for a little under an hour until wrestling practice was about to start and it was time for him to drag his exhausted ass back into the building and head toward the locker room to get changed for the occasion. And as he was grabbing his gym clothes, getting ready to change in the bathroom instead of in front of all the guys who'd see the marks on his body, Steve blocked his path to the private area the next room over. 

"Move." he grit out, eyes looking to the side of the blond's head. He couldn't bare to look into those dejected pools of blue without breaking down and crying. 

"How about you explain why it is you've been ignoring me, then maybe I'll think of letting you get past."  
Since there really wasn't any point in trying to get past the best wrestler on the team, he let out a exasperated sigh and feigned indifference. 

"In the bathroom. I gotta change."  
Surprisingly enough, Steve went along with it, turning on his heel and leading the way toward the private area and only attracting a few lingering stares from the other half-naked guys in the locker room. For all Bucky knew, they all could've been staring at his friend's amazing body, or may've just been wondering why it is they were running off together and taking such a tense atmosphere with them. People knew they were friends, but what they _didn't_ know was the true nature of their relationship. 

"I really don't see why you need to change privately, Buck. You've never shied away from baring it all before." Steve said as soon as they'd made it through the door of the boys' bathroom. He leaned his back against the wall, arms crossed in a closed off manner. Bucky didn't blame him, he really was being a dick. But being a dick seemed to be the only way to make the blond resent him. "Anyway, are you ready to explain yourself?" 

"I still gotta change, Rogers." The brunet replied, walking into an empty bathroom stall and stripping down to just his boxer briefs. He winced when he lifted his arms above his head to get his long sleeved shirt off and put on a sleeveless one. He stayed in the stall for longer than necessary, trying to figure out how he's gonna break things off with his friend and not have to explain himself too much. 

"Buck, I've seen you naked countless of times. Including last night. So I don't see why you're- acting like this." 

He soon came out of the cubicle, the clothes he'd changed out of crumbled up in his hands. He fiddled with the jeans he was holding as he began to speak. "I.. this-" he sighed inwardly, rolling his shoulders back and straightening his spine. He was once again cool and confident looking. He'd need to be if wanted to make everything look and sound believable. "Whatever it is we used to have must come to an end, Steve." 

The blond pushed himself off the wall, coming closer to Bucky and looking at him like he'd just gotten slapped across the face. "What- what are you talking about?" 

"I think that whole.. plowing into your ass night after night thing was just a phase. And now I'm totally over you. I don't need you in my life anymore." 

What hurt even more than saying those sickening words was the hurt in Steve's eyes. Even if the boy didn't believe a word he was saying, it still hurt him all the same. "Y-you're lying. You can't tell me that all those nights we shared meant nothing to you. You can't tell me that all the memories we've made in your car, or even mine, meant nothing to you."

"Took me a while to realize it, but I was never actually into you. It was all just a phase. A phase you put me through after you came out to me as a.. a faggot and threw yourself at me. Weaseled your way into my pants and gave me the idea to experiment early on in life so that if I go off to college, I can focus on more important things in life other than wanting to know what anal feels like, and whether or not I like it. Turns out I don't." Bucky felt like throwing up as he brushed past the boy who's no longer his friend. He didn't manage to get very far, as Steve grabbed on tight to his wrist and wouldn't let him leave no matter how hard he tried to escape his hold.  
He didn't dare turn to face him, couldn't, but could tell just by the way he breathed that there were tears in his eyes. 

"Is.. is this some sorta sick joke? Buck, I've- _We've_ shared so much with each other. Everything, actually. We've been best friends since middle school, and- and now you choose to.. to start hurting me and being a dick. Why?" 

"I already told you. I don't.. I don't need you ruining my social life by trying to turn me into a- a disgusting fairy like you. I don't need or love you. Never did. It was all an act to- to.." 

"To what? Say it to my face, Buck. Tell me you hate me. Tell me you never fucking loved me the way I love you." 

He turned in the younger's grip, looking him directly in the eye and hoping he put up a half-decent facade to mask his slowly shattering heart. Why is it that he feels such.. such intense pain and agony when _he's_ the one breaking things off with Steve? He shouldn't have the right to feel dead inside when only God knows what's going through the blond boy's mind. And since he's such a awful, inconsiderate person, he said the one thing that would ruin any chance of them ever rekindling the fire that burns within whenever they're together. 

He tried to keep a steady voice as he told the biggest lie he's ever had to tell in his seventeen years of being alive on this planet. "I hate you, Steve Rogers. I _hate_ you. And guess what? I **never** loved you." 

The other boy released his wrist from his vice-like grip, letting out the shakiest breath Bucky's ever heard come from him, and watching as the blond squeezed his eyes shut, a few tears sliding down his red, splotchy cheeks. 

"Okay." Steve said in the most broken voice he's ever heard. Then, as tears slid down his cheeks, walked past him and out of the bathroom. Bucky decided to stay behind a minute, allow a couple of tears to escape his own eyes, check to see if his shirt covered the bruises littering his skin, then made his way back out into the locker room to put away his clothes.  
On his way to the gym where they have practice, someone walked a bit faster to catch up with him. And, upon glancing to his left, realized it was Clint. 

"Hey, did you see the way Steve ran out of the locker room balling his eyes out? Scott told me he heard the kid's skipping practice today."

"Oh, really? Wonder why.." he said, trying not to sound too guilty. He and Clint weren't all that close of friends with each other, so he wouldn't be all that surprised if he didn't know about about his and Steve's close-

"Yeah, it was really weird. Say, aren't you two, like, friends or something?"

"We used to, uh, hang out sometimes. But haven't in a long while. So uh, yeah. We're not really friends anymore. Nor were we ever.. We've just kinda known each other since middle school and had a couple of classes together." He said, lying straight through his teeth.

"Heh, and wrestling, too." Clint added. "Why did you two stop hanging out? If you don't mind my asking." 

"Uh.. well, he kinda tried coming on to me a couple of times, and it made things really awkward and uncomfortable between the two us. So, yeah.. I ended that acquaintanceship pretty damn quickly." 

"Wait- he's _gay?_ I mean, I always had my suspicions, but now that I know for sure that he's.. y'know, it kind of makes things a little.."

"Weird? Uncomfortable? Awkward? Gross?" 

"Pretty much, dude. I don't think I'll ever be able to fight him the same way again.." 

"Right? You'll just have to use more force against him. Make him bleed." 

"No thanks, I might just catch AIDS." Clint said with a slight chuckle. 

It almost felt.. natural falling into the pattern of being a douchebag and talking shit about his late best friend. But just because it felt 'natural' to him didn't mean it wasn't a shitty feeling. 

He felt horrible as the words and phrases flew past his lips and he just kept and kept going on and on about how he's so glad he doesn't talk to him anymore, and even managing to slip in some homophobic language as often as he possibly could to make things seem more believable. Up until he reached the gym and had to stop talking to begin sulking and half-listening to whatever it is his coach had to say before he was paired up to spar with none other than the slightly annoying boy who he'd been conversing with on the walk over.


	3. Chapter 3

Halfway through practice, when Bucky had his sparring partner in a chokehold, Steve decided to show up after all. His shy, lethargic gait caused the long haired boy to get lost in the moment, watching him walk past and over to the corner of the room where he sat down and hid his hands in the sleeves of his bright blue hoodie. Strange, he wasn't wearing that earlier. Then all of a sudden he felt hands frantically tapping against his forearm as well as the loud sound of his coach telling him to release Clint. 

"Oh. Sorry 'bout that, man." He mumbled after releasing his tight hold on the other junior. "Didn't.. didn't mean to." 

His sparring partner coughed for a good minute, trying to catch his breath after the merciless air choke he had him. He didn't mean to get _that_ distracted. Steve just... he looks so _broken_. 

"Look, Barnes.. If you're gonna be all distracted, why don't you just go practice grappling techniques with Rogers over there? He isn't doing anything." His coach's hands were resting atop his shoulders, gently turning him in the direction of his ex-friend, who was still sitting in the corner looking depressed as ever. 

"I think it's probably best if I just-" 

"No, you're gonna clear your head with some exercises that won't end in someone's death, kiddo."  
At Bucky's nervous expression, his coach sighed. "Look, the kid may be the champ 'round here, but he ain't gonna hurt you unless you're askin' for it." 

"Sure. Yeah. I'll- I'll just spar with him.." he whispered, still not taking a step in the blond's direction. 

"Then how 'bout you start moving your feet?.. What, did you two have a falling out or something?" 

"Or something." Bucky replied easily. He took a deep breath and slowly began walking toward the hoodie-clad boy in the corner. And even as he stood over him, casting a large shadow, the younger didn't even bother looking up. He told himself, and his uncle, that he'd stop talking to the kid, cut all ties with him. But here he was, wracking his brain for something to say to the boy with a rain cloud hanging above his head. He settled on the least affectionate thing he could think of. 

"Uh, hey, Rogers.. Coach wants us to practice some grappling techniques."  
That got Steve to finally look up, allowing him the perfect view of his red, tear stained face. 

"Why are you even talking to me? Haven't you already caused me enough pain for one day?" Steve said, only barely able to mask the hurt in his big blue eyes. Well, maybe it would count as masking it to anybody else but Bucky. He always knew how the junior was feeling inside. 

He had to steel himself before putting up a facade of his own. 

"Look, I don't want to be seen talking to you or getting anywhere near you, for that matter. It was coaches idea for me to come over here and spar with the loser in the corner. Turns out I'm too lethal to fight Barton, so I have to fight _you_ instead." 

"I've won the most metals and trophies for this dumb school, Bucky. I'm not just some weakling anymore.." 

"Oh, that's right.. you had to work the hardest out of everyone on the team to even be any good at all." 

"And now I'm the Champ." Steve grit his teeth, expression twisting into one of someone who's trying their hardest not to scream and cry. 

"Well, _Chump_ , let's fight." 

He had to fight tooth and nail to keep all feelings of self-hatred from rising to the surface and poisoning his blood on the way. He had to restrain himself from pulling the blond into a hug when they had to slot their fingers together above their heads. He toyed with the younger for a moment, taking one of his hands away from his and lifting it far above his head where he couldn't reach, then, while he had him distracted, brought a knee right up into his stomach. 

The kind of wrestling Fury had taught and practiced at his school was.. not your typical stuff, you could say. The rules and regulations weren't exactly black and white, and nearly everything was legal. It was an amalgamation of many styles of wrestling. 

He could've gone easy on Steve, not try and put him in painful submission holds he barely even tried to break out of, but he didn't. And he felt awful about it afterwards. He just got so caught up in the act, of making everything look believable to the one he was hurting as well as everyone surrounding them. He almost felt like.. like Zemo had created a monster that would be stopped at nothing to break his ex-best friend and lover. It was only a day ago that things were good, and they were happy. And now.. now his world was flipped upside down and he couldn't tell his left from his right. 

He took the awful thoughts with him all the way home and into his bed later that night. He didn't get a wink of sleep, too heavily immersed in his thoughts of world ending scenarios. Such as not having his best friend in his life any longer.. That.. that one would break him for sure. In fact, he could already feel the hole in his heart expanding, getting more and more painful as the hours flew past and it was suddenly morning and he needed to get to school within the hour. 

-

Weeks had passed by, tears had been shed, and Bucky was still wearing a mask everywhere he went. It had gotten to the point where he didn't even know who he was anymore. 

He woke up, showered, got dressed, escaped the confines of his prison and had to walk past the white picket fence surrounding the front yard to get to his car every morning. He felt like a zombie every time he had to enter the doors of the school and pretend everything was all right. Hang out with his 'posse' which consisted of Clint, Scott, and Natasha, and spew words of hatred at the face of the one he still loves. 

But how could he possibly love Steve if he treated him like- like absolute crap? He hardly knew the answer himself. All he knew was that he needed to do everything in his power to keep him out of his personal life and away from his toxic, abusive uncle who won't hesitate to put him in a world of pain if he were to ever find out his name, and also that he couldn't bare to be without him. So, I guess somewhere in the back of his mind this was his sick, twisted way of being able to keep him close without actually having him in his life. It may not make sense, but when you've been beaten, bruised, and thrown around for ages.. you somehow become your abuser. Or at least in Bucky's case he did. 

And he absolutely _hated_ to admit it to himself. 

So he tried ignoring the thoughts that told him maybe this was wrong, maybe he should stop and just not have Steve in his life anymore. Find another alternative to not want kill himself every day of his life, 'cause bullying the kid just wasn't cuttin' it. It made things worse for him, actually. Every time he drove home he contemplated just driving off the side of the long and winding highway and just ending It all.. but then he'd remember who it was he'd be leaving behind. 

He knows that if the whole situation were flipped around and he was in Steve's shoes.. he'd be pissed and confused if he woke up one day and heard rumors at school about his ex-best friend and current bully killing himself. If Steve had done the same awful things he's doing to him.. he'd still love him. He'd never be able to get over him. And he'd be left angry and heartbroken if the younger killed himself. So he always liked to imagine that Steve would feel something other than glee if he ever drove himself off the side of a highway; and that right there would talk him off the edge. 

He shook his head to ward off the suicidal thoughts that never quite left him. Fists curling in the black fabric of the hoodie the boy he had pressed up against a row of lockers wore. The lock no doubt pressed into the blond's back as he pinned him with his hands and his intense stare. 

"You used to wear bright colors that were as gay as you are, and now you wear black. Any particular reason for that, fag?" He had an inkling as to why the younger wore such a dark, depressing pallet, but he also needed an excuse to speak to him. 

Steve no longer even tried to break free from the submission holds he surprised him with in the hallways or in practice. He didn't really try fighting off anything the brunet did to him anymore. Maybe he felt like there was no point? Maybe he felt the same way Bucky does when Zemo comes after him.. like there's no use in putting up a fight 'cause it'll only make him hit you harder, and because you feel like a small, defenseless little boy in his presence. He's never viewed Steve as defenseless, he knows how great a fighter he is. And sometimes, he just wished the boy would escape the submission hold he knew for a fact he could escape, hit him back, give him the beating he knew he deserved. But the younger never did. Never laid a hand on him in the name of self-defense. 

I guess Bucky kind of got what was coming to him, what with Zemo's increased drinking problems and late night fits of rage directed at him. Most nights were filled with pain and agony for him, crying himself to sleep not only at how much his entire body hurt, but also at what he's done to his ex-best friend. 

"No- not really, Bucky."  
That's another thing that'd changed in the last month or so. Steve calling him by his full name instead of just 'Buck' like he always had since day one. He didn't hold out much hope that it would ever stop hurting. 

"I think you can come up with a better response than _that_. Wouldn't you agree, Stevie?" The blond boy in question didn't respond, so he flipped him around, his face now being pressed against the flat sheet of metal. And, judging by the labored breathing the action drew out from him, the lock on the thing must've been pressing into part of his body. And with the way his front was pressed against Steve's back, it got him close to the younger without actually having him _be_ close, if that makes any sense. It's the same position in which he used to surprise the blond with hugs in the hallway, then wait a good six seconds for him to get over his surprise and turn around in his grip to return the embrace. It usually led to a couple of kisses, and the reminder only made him press the junior further into the lockers to try and bury the memory that brought moisture to his eyes. "I said, wouldn't you agree?" 

"Maybe.. maybe I wear it to express myself. Make the way I feel on the inside be shown on the outside for the world to see." 

He didn't even want to _think_ about what that could've meant. He didn't want to believe that the younger was.. was feeling.. not too good inside all because of his incessant bullying and selfishness. Because that right there may just be enough for him to drive off the side of the road and stay at the bottom of the pit until help comes and brings his corpse to a mortuary where he'd be buried alone in the cheapest casket available because his uncle would never want to waste money on scum like him. 

He slammed Steve into the lockers once more before releasing him and trying to repress his strong emotions as the boy's knees buckled and he fell to the floor. Class had already started, so no one was there to witness the bout. 

"See ya in history, faggy mc fag fag." He called over his shoulder, voice carrying its way down the hall and to the boy that lay atop the dirty linoleum floor of the school. He didn't have to look back to know his.. victim was crying. The quiet sniffles and hiccups carried down the hall, making him lengthen his strides and pick the pace just a little bit. All the way to Mr. Parker's classroom where he had to pretend he wasn't on the verge of tears. Pretend he wasn't absolutely broken inside and needed a hug more than ever. But the thing is, he'd never ask for one because he knows he doesn't deserve one. He is the lowest of the low, and he's become his uncle. The man- No, _monster_ he never wanted to be. 

He enters Mr. Parker's classroom with eyes downcast and hands stuffed deep in his pockets. His fingertips found some lint, but his brain couldn't, for the life of him, think up an excuse for him being five minutes late. So he didn't even try explaining himself, explain why he _and_ Steve are both late. Though, now that he thinks about it, that was the norm back when they were still.. together. He wasn't supposed to be all selfish anymore, keeping Steve all to himself for long amounts of time. Even if it was to _bully_ him. He wasn't supposed to be drawing _more_ attention towards himself and the blond. 

Word might get around to Zemo, then everything would go to shit. His ex-best friend would get beaten to death by the monster who he has to deal with when the guy isn't totally passed out drunk. Which was another thing that'd changed in the last few weeks, he'd started drinking more heavily. And now, when the guy wasn't passed out drunk, he got even worse beatings than before. Nothing anywhere near as severe as.. the night he lost it all.. but still painful as hell. He usually came to school bruised and battered enough to warrant wearing a shirt during wrestling practice. He could usually get away with just wearing a sleeveless top, seeing as the bruises littering his arms could be passed off as marks from the physically demanding sport, but the ones on his ribs and stomach are far too severe for the rest of the locker room to see without reporting his case to the police and getting him in even worse trouble with his uncle if the man manages to weasel his way out of prosecution. 

Mr. Parker gave him a slightly disappointed look, arms crossed. "Should I even bother asking why you're late for the third time this week?" 

"You could, or I could skip the whole spiel and you can just let me take my seat so you can continue your lecture." 

The sigh his teacher let out told him he was exasperated, and not really in the mood to deal with this kind of crap today. "Sure, yeah. Just.. where's Steve?" 

Without skipping a beat, he lied straight through his teeth. "Haven't seen him since.. before first period. But don't worry, teach', I'm sure he'll show up."

"Well, that's not.. disconcerting in the slightest." The history buff muttered to himself before seemingly remembering the presence of his student standing before him, and flashed him a tight-lipped smile. "You can go take your seat now, Bucky. We'll just have to continue on with today's lesson until your.. friend shows up." 

He stood stock still, staring at Mr. Parker for a moment longer and contemplating whether to say something or just let it go and blow his whole cover.  
In the end, he opened his mouth and spoke words he wished oh-so badly were a lie. 

"He's _not_ my friend." 

The man eyed him for a moment, seeming to almost care about his and Steve's severed ties. "I know it's not my place to ask, but did you two have a falling out of sorts? Neither of you have been all right or even smiled in weeks, and it's kind of worrying."

Instead of sifting through his thoughts to come up with a response, he turned on his heels and went to the back of the class where his new permanent seat was located. He tried to tune into the lecture Mr. Parker was holding, but couldn't find it in him to do so. He was stuck in a foggy daydream for god knows how long, until Steve walked in the classroom and their teacher let him off with a warning. As the boy shuffled toward his seat a couple of rows in front of Bucky's, he saw tear stains on his cheeks and the crippling sadness in his eyes and realized that that must've been the history buff's reason for letting him off the hook so easily.  
Also, it seemed the man just wasn't having the best of days. Which is strange, considering most teachers would give you detention on the spot if you were a second late and they were in a crabby mood. 

Once his eyes had landed on the back of his ex-best friend's head, he couldn't look at or focus on anything else for the remainder of the lesson. 

He did that to Steve. He's the reason the boy comes to school every morning looking deflated and.. and.

-

The last day of school, and junior year, had passed and Bucky had to try and fight the memories and flashbacks of Scott, Clint, Natasha, and himself calling Steve names and.. and the others keeping their distance as he kicked at him, kneed him in the ribs, squeezed his arms with all the strength he possessed until he was sure bruises had appeared on the alabaster skin, and.. and the kid was pulled into a very painful submission hold, as he lay in bed pulling at his hair and cursing himself for being so god damn cowardly and **stupid**. 

It'd been a month or two since.. everything ended and everything started. Confusing, I know. But it made perfect sense to Bucky. Hurting Steve and keeping him distant from him yet.. still close also made perfect sense at the time. He's sure he could've found a better alternative, but didn't try, seeing as he had become an unstoppable.. monster. 

He didn't know if his ex-best friend ever caught glimpses of his pain and agony whenever he looked his way, whenever he shoved him up against a row of lockers and went on to beat him and spit insults at him. He was trapped inside himself and had nobody to turn to but a.. no. He wouldn't go down that dark a road. He knew he deserved all the pain and punishments his uncle directed at him. He now knew that. But it wasn't enough, and so every day he was alive and breathing he wished he could inflict some damage upon himself to.. to do the same as his uncle does to him. Only difference being he could choose just how much he felt he deserved, could control how deep he dragged the- 

He swallowed around nothing and soon felt the familiar sensation of hot tears welling up in his eyes. Threatening to spill over onto his angry red face and soak the scar on his face that'd opened back up not two hours ago with salt water. 

He stayed in his bed, as he couldn't move an inch without his entire body aching and screaming at him to just **stop**. But out of every bruised and bloody part of his body, his heart hurt the most. It caused him the most physical pain he's ever felt in his seventeen years of being alive. 

He soon came to the realization that heartbreak was all the pain he needed in his body to severely harm himself without actually having to draw any blood. 

So he stewed in the intense pain the organ sent throughout his entire six-foot tall frame. He grit his teeth and tried not to let out a blood-curdling scream as it convulsed, making it feel as though he was having a heart attack. 

But it couldn't have been one. Because it wouldn't have been anywhere near as severe as the pain quickly spreading throughout his chest, making him curl in on himself and feel the effects brought on by merely thinking about.. him. 

It would be a long and hard three months without his.. without _him_ by his side. 

-

Sometime during those three months of summer vacation, he'd somehow gotten roped into driving two miles to the nearest grocery store at eight-thirty in the evening to buy chips for Zemo to eat during the 'big game' that he himself gave zero shits about. But even if he did care about it, he would never subject himself to the torture of having to sit in the same room as his.. uncle. 

He found a parking spot after spending a whopping fifteen minutes circling the lot. It would've taken less time, had it not been the day of the 'big game', which happened to be airing really damn late at night.  
He had to refrain from slamming his car door as he exited the vehicle, and then immediately remembering he'd left the one reusable bag he owns in said car and having to unlock it once more to grab the floral nuisance and haphazardly stuff it into the back pocket of his too tight jeans. 

The boy who'd soon be entering his senior year without.. his best friend looked both ways as he ran across the lot to enter the chilly store. Well, I guess good things _do_ come from accidentally leaving your leather jacket at home when it's eighty-five degrees outside and you're sweating up a storm. 

He shooed away all unnecessary thoughts and grabbed a shopping basket to begin his lame journey of buying multiple bags of chips for a couch potato. 

Scanning the aisles, he realized that he doesn't actually know where they keep the chips. Was it in aisle three or six? He didn't know, so he continued walking around until he began to look a little bit like a lost puppy- or a lost teenager who couldn't tell the difference between Celsius and Fahrenheit. 

It was three minutes _later_ that an employee asked him if he needed any assistance, and he politely declined to preserve his manhood. And judging by the way the girl blushed a dark shade of pink and shuffled away from him, she likely found him to be attractive. Something he most certainly did _not_ need in his life at the moment. Or ever, preferably. I mean, sure, he's dated a couple of girls here and there in middle school and even freshman year of high school, but none of them really stood out to him like Steve did. He was.. he was something special. And someone he really should've treated better. Should treat better.. but sadly, that wasn't exactly an option at this point. 

His mood was severely dampened by the thoughts of his late friend, and he continued weaving his way through every aisle he came across until he found the chips. Turns out, they keep 'em in aisle twelve and they were hiding from him all along. 

His basket was overflowing with family-sized bags of chips by the time he was exiting the junk food section, about to head toward the checkout when he all of a sudden ran into the side of a shopping cart he didn't see coming. Cursing under his breath, he readied himself to apologize to the nimrod who wasn't looking where they were going, when he heard the familiar sound of Steve frantically apologizing before he realized who it is he'd gotten T-boned by. 

The boy went silent and ducked his head as he continued pushing the cart toward.. his guardian, Abraham. He's met the short, intimidating, and also kinda scary, guy quite a few times since he became friends with Steve in middle school, and he wasn't exactly sure what he'd told the guy about their.. falling out, so he didn't want to draw any attention towards himself by following him over. So that's what led to him half-shouting at the boy from where his feet were still firmly planted on the ground by the colorful Sno Balls display. 

"Long time no see, eh, punk?" He held his breath, waiting to see if the blond would continue on with his grocery shopping trip, or stop and give him the time of day. It'd been nearly a month and a half since they last spoke. And when they did, it was the last day of school.. and he'd called him a factory mistake and a disgraceful faggot.. 

He hoped Steve wouldn't even look his way for the rest of his time at the supermarket with his family. He was nothing but selfish and.. and just downright _awful_. 

He was mentally kicking himself as he physically began walking toward the checkout. It's best if he hurries home. Zemo doesn't like to wait, and he's most likely not going to get.. beaten by the man if he stays in his good graces and brings home all.. four? Five? Bags of chips quickly and efficiently. He was sixth in line at the express lane, noticing that most of the people ahead of him had at _least_ double the limit of items that were allowed. 

After waiting for God knows how long, two people finally finished checking out and there was room for him to set his many bags of chips atop the conveyor belt. To give himself something menial to do while he waited, he reached into his back pocket to grab the crumpled up reusable bag he'd stuffed in there earlier. Shaking it to un-wrinkle it and get it ready for use in about.. he'd guess around fifteen minutes, judging by the amount of shit everyone ahead of him was buying.  
When he let out a loud sigh and threw his arms to his sides in exasperation, he felt his hand make contact with a taught stomach.. abs, actually. And the 'oof' sound the boy released only served to confirm his suspicions. 

He glanced to his left only to see a slightly bent over Steve with a hand resting atop his accidentally assaulted stomach. His mouth opened on its own volition, an apology nearly falling from his parted lips before he caught himself a millisecond before the words could tumble out and foil his entire act. 

"You walked into it, Rogers." He really hoped Steve couldn't see just how bad he felt. In the past, he's been told by the blond how expressive his eyes are. Steve's eyes also happened to be quite expressive. Showing his internal dilemma. He looked to be contemplating whether he should just walk away or.. well, Bucky couldn't read his mind and he didn't want to get his hopes up. 

The soon-to-be senior took his hand off his stomach and squared his shoulders. "You could've just said sorry." 

The line moved forward as one person had finished bagging their groceries and left the building. Bucky scooted forward at the same time his items on be conveyor belt did, and, surprisingly enough, Steve followed. 

"What if I'm not?" He directed the question at the cool ranch Doritos that lay beside his elbow.

"I see it in your eyes, Bucky. Even as you beat on me and spit insults my way- there's no denying you still feel something for me. I don't know the real reason you decided to become a giant dick, but I will one day. I'll get you to tell me everything." 

He struggled to refrain from grabbing the blond's hand and running toward his car with him. Driving out to the beach where they spent a lot of their free time together last summer. And the summers before that.. Had to refrain from explaining everything to him, apologizing, and not at all expecting it to be accepted. 

He had to clench his hands into fists, feeling his blunt fingernails leave small crescent shaped marks in his palms that'd no doubt make it less than comfortable for him to drive home. 

"I told you everything, Steve. Why can't you just accept that we're through? That nothing we ever did together meant anything to me." Just thinking back on photo booth pictures they'd taken together at the beach not six months ago pained him. Gave him the pain he needed to not resort to other means of.. self-harm. There. He said it. 

"Nothing? Nothing at all? So you're telling me all those midnight rendezvous and- and.. when you held me during bad, rainy nights when I was having the worst flashbacks of my life- that meant _nothing_ to you?" 

The urge to pull him impossibly close and crush every bone in his body with a bear hug was- it was intense. Overwhelming, even. The immense feeling of self-hatred and.. and _want_ and need to assure the blond of his unyielding and everlasting love for him nearly took over his empty shell of body. He took a single step toward the boy before steeling himself and tensing every muscle in his body to keep from.. he honestly doesn't know what he would've done, had he not gotten himself under control. 

"That is exactly what I'm saying, Steve. It meant absolutely **nothing**." 

When tears welled up in the boy's big blue eyes, he suddenly remembered where they were and realized that the line had moved forward sometime during their confrontation and he was now standing directly in front of the cashier, who was giving him a dirty look. 

"See you in school, Bucky." The boy whispered, voice hoarse and cracked around the edges. 

The hot, salty tears rolled down his late best friend's cheeks a second before he ran in the direction of his guardian. 

"Need a bag, **sir?** " the cashier grit out. 

"No- no, I've got one right here." He mumbled in reply, setting his floral bag atop the counter and trying not to make eye contact with the large man roughly scanning and bagging his chips. He hoped they were still in all right condition, as to not upset his uncle. But then again, maybe he deserved a good beatdown right about now. After all, he just said some awful, awful things to the love of his life. And made him run off crying. In public, too. 

He paid the man and left before he could have a hole bored into the side of his head via his angry stare. 

He wasn't proud of his efforts to distance his once best friend from his life. Hell, he fucking _cried_ all the way home. The tears not once letting up until he was in the driveway and had to face his uncle for a moment to make the hand off. 

He only got yelled at a little for taking so damn long. Well, at least to him it was a little. For other normal teenagers with a happy home life it would've been the most severe.. 'talking to' of their lives. 

And just like he did every night since he broke the kid's heart, he crawled into bed and cried for what felt like hours, and honestly could've been. He forced himself to feel the intense pounding in his chest- the convulsions, really. Feel the ache in his heart growing more and more painful as he thought back on just how utterly _broken_ the boy looked when the burning hot tears rolled down his cheeks and he bolted. 

A nightmare filled slumber finally found him once his seemingly endless stream of tears stopped flowing down his cheeks, ceasing all together until he was left hiccuping and trying to find a single drop of moisture in his mouth to swallow around.


	4. Chapter 4

School snuck up on him and bit him in the ass. He couldn't tell whether not seeing Steve at all, save for a couple of run-ins at the grocery store, and randomly seeing him walking somewhere with Abraham while he's driving, was worse than seeing him every single day and not being able to just.. _be_ with him the way they used to. Whether that be in a loving embrace or.. a lovers embrace, he didn't mind. Either would be nice. 

His summer vacation was absolute shit, mostly filled with running errands for his uncle, hiding in his room to cry for god knows how long, and visiting college campuses. His parents.. before they passed on, were loaded. Meaning that even if he didn't get a scholarship, he could still afford to get a higher form of education. Ah, who am I kidding? He doesn't care about education, he just wants a way to get out of his house and far, far away from Zemo. He wouldn't be graduating until next year, but if he wanted to be accepted into a good, far away college, he'd need to send in his applications early. 

School starting back up again meant that everyone had to tryout for the wrestling team again. Basically everyone from junior year made the team, so that was.. nice, I suppose. A couple of newbies were added, but they were all fairly decent fighters who could use some direction, so Bucky had no problems with them. Steve was still the best of the best, but he never showed it anymore. Bucky was second best, which meant that they usually ended up fighting each other, or merely roughly sparring as they were instructed to by their coach. And when they did fight or spar together, the younger didn't put up much of a fight whatsoever. It reminded him of how he is whenever he's alone with his uncle. Whenever Zemo throws down on him he feels weak and is holding back for fear of being demolished by the monster. 

He wouldn't be surprised if that's how Steve saw him. A monster willing to do whatever it takes to.. to.. well, he didn't know what it is the boy thought his motives were. Just knew that he could see into his eyes, read him, every time he looked his way or passed him in the hall. 

He often times wondered if the entirety of his senior year going to be this awful. Also wondered if he'd ever smile again. Those two questions were pretty easy to answer when you didn't have your best friend by your side. He used to have not terrible days back when he and Steve would hang out, hug, hold hands, get more intimate behind closed doors. School used to be semi-enjoyable, actually. The blond was the light of his life, the beacon at the end of an endless tunnel of darkness and despair. And without him by his side where he wished he could always be, Bucky knew the corners of his mouth would never lift the same way again. He'd forever be depressed and living a lie. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, he thought to himself as he glanced to his left of his open locker. He'd been lost in a day dream for.. a lot longer than he could remember. All he knew was that the hallways were full of teenagers shuffling their way toward their respective classes, as the bell had just rung, but all he could look at was the specimen in the black hoodie standing not thirteen feet away from him and looking his way. Their eyes locked for a painful three seconds before Bucky found the strength (or cowardice) within the break the intense, intimate stare. 

Even as he gently shut his locker door and bumped shoulders with the other as he passed him by, he told himself this wasn't right. He was putting them both through hell to protect the boy, but all that seemed to be doing was _hurting_ them both. Was it really worth it? Could he not just secretly hang out with him and pray his uncle never finds out? He knew that wasn't a serious option, as nobody in the right mind, not even Steve, who used to be so very madly in love with him, would even consider forgiving such terrible acts of violence and verbal.. no one would forgive a bully. 

He ended up being alone with the blond in the locker room after practice, Steve changing back into his hoodie no sweat, as he loved being warm and cozy, while he himself didn't dare take his shirt off in front of him. He'd see.. he'd see everything if he were to strip down. Suddenly, the memories and flashbacks of the boy stealing his leather jacket and keeping it for days on end, especially when it's cold out, hit him hard. He didn't say a word, nor did he lay a hand on the other as he stumbled toward the bathroom with gym bag in hand. 

Steve followed after him, only able to poke his head in the room and part his lips before getting yelled at to leave him the fuck alone. He didn't miss the way the senior's entire form drooped at him getting cussed out. 

He was in no way shape or form proud of his cowardly, douchey actions. But there was no other way to get the boy to leave him be. To distance himself from the toxicity in his life that was Bucky. 

He didn't beat the kid up that day, couldn't. And a month or two and lots of acts of bullying later, it was now October third, his birthday. Which happened to be exactly eight days before that of his late best friend. 

He'd be spending it alone, probably crying himself to sleep in his room and feeling the affects of heartbreak after he sees the blond at school, and gets his teeth kicked in by Zemo when he arrives home. 

The day of his birthday, he showed up at school same time as usual, around twenty-five ish minutes before class starts. Nothing felt different now that he was eighteen. He didn't all of a sudden feel more mature, or like he's got his life figured out, or feel any less depressed and.. suicidal. 

He still had those moments throughout the day when he wanted to feel pain - not the kind Zemo inflicts on him -, but the kind that's.. self-inflicted. He wouldn't dare take a sharp object to his skin, people would be able to see those scars with their eyes. No, he would pause for a moment and allow himself to feel every strong emotion in his system at once. Allow his chest to ache so badly he thought it was going to kill him. But it never did, and so here he was, transferring books from his locker to his backpack that he actually needed for his first class of the day. Surprisingly enough, he still had Science class with Mr. Stark in his senior year. Which was sort of nice, but also sort of awkward. The man never really forget about that one time, many months ago, when he showed up at school with the large cut on his face. He never verbalized his concern for Bucky, but the look in his eyes said it all. 

He was so completely lost in thought that he didn't hear the footsteps coming up from behind him, and when he felt a hesitant hand on his shoulder he nearly had an _actual_ heart attack. 

He turned to face the culprit, and, of course, it just _had_ to be the boy who never quite left his thoughts. Ever. 

"What the hell do you want?" He grit out, backing up a step to get away from the one who was standing less than a foot away from him. 

"I know you.. hate me and call me names all the time and.. yeah, but I just wanted to say happy birthday, since I'm sure none of your other 'friends' remembered." 

He was so caught up in the moment, in Steve's words, that he didn't register stepping a good six inches closer to the boy. He remembers all the times they've met up early in the empty school like this, talked for a bit before he'd lean in close when the blond was mid-sentence, and kiss him. The memory alone was painful enough to get himself under control and get him to take a couple of steps back toward his locker until his back was pressed against it. Which left _him_ vulnerable to cute boy's he was in love with to take a step closer and glance down at his lips. 

He decided enough was enough, and extracted himself from the predicament. Slamming his locker door closed and walking away from the situation completely. He didn't want to have to spit insults at and hurt the boy. He still loved him.. and after that moment in the hallway, it would be nearly impossible to even _think_ of the possibility of laying a hand on him.   
His heart and head both ached from all the memories flooding his psyche as he fast walked toward first period science. 

"Bucky!" The boy he needed to forget called out. 

He walked faster, sprinted really, toward the room his teacher was most likely already inside of. He needed to get away from his late best friend or else bad things would happen. 

He reached the locked classroom in record time, glancing back a couple of times to see that the boy hadn't followed him. That's good. Steve needed to keep his distance from him. Well, emotionally at least. 'Cause even when Bucky did everything he could to squash all of his emotions down into the pit of his stomach and put on a brave face, try to dismiss all acts of kindness the other showed him, that kid... he'd just.. he'd break him.   
He rapped his knuckles against the wooden door and tried not to appear too anxious and shaken up as he came face-to-face with his teacher who could read him from cover to cover with just one look. 

Keeping his head down, he mumbled a quite 'thanks' and a polite 'morning', as he made his way to his permanent desk in a dark corner in the back of the room. And, Mr. Stark being observant as always, noticed something was off about him. Could've been his sluggish gait, or possibly even the.. depressed vibe that got his teacher to shuffle around some papers scattered around his desk before clearing his throat and walking over to him, plopping down into the seat beside him. 

The man had his hands folded neatly atop his lap, body facing him and gaze trained on his eyes he tried controlling the rapid blinking of. He must've looked like a wreck if his science teacher, who hadn't left the comfort of his desk to speak to him since.. It's really not important.

"Everything all right, Bucky? You haven't been this early to class since... Anyway, I sincerely hope you have a nice birthday celebration later tonight."

He had to swallow around the sudden dryness of his throat before he could even begin to think up a good lie as to why he was twenty minutes early to class. Everyone knew he showed up a good half hour before school starts, but actually _being_ in class before the janitor finishes 'cleaning' most of the rooms, is.. it's strange. Even more so if you take into account how creepy Wade is.   
Mr. Parker may be friends with the guy, but he was definitely not the kind of person you'd want anywhere near you in an enclosed space. It's not that the pale, strange man has ever been reported for sexual harassment or.. other such terrible things; he's just plain creepy. 

"Everything is.. I'm doing all right, Mr. Stark. Not gonna lie, I didn't sleep too great last night. But, uh.. I'm here now. Ready to learn whatever it is you have on the agenda.." 

"Seeing as you're a high school student, I wouldn't expect for you to be getting an adequate amount of sleep. No, I meant your mental state. Are you _feeling_ all right, Bucky?" 

"Like I said, I'm really tired. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I didn't get an 'adequate amount of sleep'. I'm exhausted. I can't really think of any other words to describe how completely and utterly _tired_ I am, so could you maybe just.. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but could you maybe just.. leave me alone?" 

His teacher's expression didn't give away much, just the fact that he was studying him like one would the answers for their upcoming drivers ed test. Did his crippling depression show that easily? So easily that his stoic science teacher who usually minds his own business would come sidle up next to him and question him about his.. he didn't even want to think about what the man was questioning him about. All he knew for sure was that he was _tired_ in every sense of the word. He was like a large, six foot tall slug inching his way through a life that was no longer worth living. 

"Not to be intrusive and dredge up any unpleasant memories, but did you ever report that.. bully to the principle, or open up to the guidance counselor about your troubles?" 

"I don't think you fully understand the true meaning of the word 'intrusive', Mr. T." 

"I'll take that as a 'no'," the man sighed softly. "Class starts in around fifteen, so I really should be getting started on sorting through all the pop quizzes I have prepared, but it was.. pleasant getting to talk to you for a moment. I do hope you have a friend by your side supporting you and keeping close during these tough times, Bucky. I suggest you take a break from homework tonight to.. be young and hang out with your friends." His teacher was just getting up from his seat at the desk beside him that just so happened to be unoccupied this semester, when it clicked that there would be a pop quiz. Aren't those things supposed to be a surprise? Is it possible that the man let it slip from his mouth all because he pitied him? That was likely enough the case. Which wasn't all that horrible, since it'd give him the slightest bit of warning before he has to face his doom and shade in fifty-something circles. Though, now that he thought about it, getting a warning was also a bit nerve wracking.

"I don't have any friends. So I think it's just gonna be me and.. a pop quiz that isn't really much of a surprise anymore." 

"I thought that may've been one of the issues you've been dealing with recently.. I've heard rumors circling about in the teacher's lounge about you and a friend having a falling out semi-recently. I know you're a teenager, and this may feel like it's the end of the world, but trust me when I say it isn't. Life goes on, and things get better eventually. But only if you want them to. I can't tell you what to do, as I have no real authority over you, but I do suggest you make-up with this friend of yours. Now I don't mean to.. assume things, but all it takes is a heartfelt apology to let someone know you care about them and feel.. remorse for whatever it is you may or may not have done." 

He definitely felt the effects of his.. wise, and slightly intrusive teacher's words. He wouldn't be apologizing to Steve anytime soon, or possibly ever, as that would mean he still cared about and loved him. He didn't need him to be any more in his life than he already was. Mainly for the senior's own.. safety, as bullshit as that sounds. 

"Thanks for the advice, Mr. T. But, uh.. life isn't always that easy. Can't just recite someone the back of a Hallmark card and pray everything's gonna work out all right." 

"Not off the back of a card, Bucky. From the heart."

He half nodded half shrugged in response before ducking his head down low and using his feet to slide his backpack closer to his desk. He knew going easy on his ex-best friend was slowly but surely revealing his feelings for him, and that wasn't a good thing at all. He'd need to show him no mercy, make him believe that he does truly hate him. He'd need to put up his white picket fence facade full time. 

He wouldn't have noticed Mr. Stark walking back over to his desk if not for the slight squeak his shoes made as he crossed the linoleum floor. 

If Bucky sat through the entire class on edge, looking as though he'd break into panic at any given moment, Clint didn't say anything. He may've glanced at him every couple of minutes to check if he was all right, but other than that he didn't think to voice his concerns. He didn't even remember his birthday. Not that he ever told him, or any other of his casual friends. He didn't think them to be important enough to him to warrant telling any of them personal information about himself. 

Though, later in the day during English, Mr. Parker wished him a happy birthday, watching closely as he smiled a tight lipped smile in response and pointedly walked past Steve to sit in the back of the class in his permanent seat for this semester as well as halfway through the previous one. His teacher seemed to have caught onto why it is the two haven't spoken to each other much in months unless it was harsh whispers in the hallways between classes. They used to be so close, and now they didn't even sit next to each other anymore, didn't even smile anymore.. They more or less looked like zombies. Only difference being neither of them craved the taste of human flesh. 

He left class that afternoon with the intention of marching straight to the bathroom to be alone with his thoughts, when he heard a familiar voice boom down the currently bustling hallway. 

"Hey asshole, you mind picking up your litter?" Said an exasperated sounding Wade Wilson, the school's creepy, ghostly pale janitor. "I seriously don't get paid enough to deal with all this crap you teenagers constantly drop on my floor. It's like hella disrespectful."

He hesitantly turned to face the janitor, all the while trying to avoid eye contact. He may or may not be kind of afraid of the six-foot plus man with a nice amount of scars and possibly even burn marks covering the expanse of his covered arms. He may've caught a peek of them once or twice throughout the years.

The large broom in the man's hands didn't do much to quell his anxieties. But at least there were students in the hallway, meaning he's a lot less likely to lose his shit and eviscerate him if he doesn't do what he says. 

He snapped back to reality and realized Wade was standing a mere foot away from him, fingers snapping in front of his face and eyes narrowed in irritation. "Aye, punk you listening to me? Trash, floor, pick it up or Wade will be very angry." 

"It's not mine, but, uh.. yeah, I'll get it." He mumbled more to himself than Wade before bending over to pick up the lone KitKat wrapper. There was melted chocolate sliding off the side and onto his hand. Reminds him of the way Steve would eat his KitKat's.. He'd leave it in his back pocket for his first couple of classes to melt, and then he'd eat it stick by stick in the hallway, usually after English, then give him the wrapper to lick clean. It was a pretty good system.  
Thinking about the fond memory brought a kind of.. pain to his chest and a emptiness to his stomach. 

"You're.. you're not seriously thinking of eating that after you dropped it on the floor, are you, punk?" Wade asked, expression twisted up into one of horror and disgust. 

"What? No.. no, it's not mine." He began walking toward the nearest trashcan, all the while trying to push away the depressing thought that maybe.. maybe it was the boy's wrapper. Maybe he still.. it was possible he still cared about him and couldn't bring himself to lick it clean. It was possible, but very unlikely, he told himself. 

He was lifting his hand, ready to toss it in the trash when Wade spoke to him once more. "Why are you lookin' at it like it's the love of your life? Just throw the nasty thing away already." 

He unfurled his fist, allowing the item to float down into the half-full garbage can. "No reason.. just.. reminded me of someone I used to know." He whispered painfully before finding it in him to head towards his next class. Even though he wasn't actively searching the crowds for his ex-best friend, there was no sight of him on the way. 

He went home that day with little to no injury, since he'd been sparring slash fighting with Steve during wrestling practice that afternoon. After many months of him bullying the younger boy, he still hasn't found the strength within to fight back. Even when they're wrestling each other. It reminds him of his situation with his uncle.. Which are two things he never wanted to make a connection between. 

Just because Bucky left with only minor bruising doesn't mean Steve did. The kid left the gym that day with tears welling up in his beautiful, expressive blue eyes he wouldn't allow himself to get lost in. He had fingertip shaped bruises littering the expanse of his forearms and thighs, as Bucky had applied.. a great deal of pressure on key spots. Not only were his.. actions to make the other detest and want to distance himself from him, but also to restrain himself from breaking down crying and pulling him into his arms. He didn't like to admit it, but he really needed a hug. Something he hadn't gotten since.. well, he hasn't gotten a genuine hug from anyone since the night before he broke things off with _him_. Clint doesn't count, as his hugs were half-hugs or 'bro hugs' that lasted about a millisecond. 

He drove home after school and somehow managed to sneak past Zemo's bedroom without his notice. Until nine o'clock rolled around and he was being thrashed around like a rag doll for the better part of an hour. All of the slurs and names being thrown his way were.. they hurt. Even if they came from the man who made it his life's mission to strike fear into him on the daily. Not to mention pain as well.. 

And just when he thought he couldn't possibly take being thrown into the wall of his bedroom one more time without blacking out, Zemo threw him against it full force. Managing to knock all the breath out of him as he lay unmoving on the floor. A steel toed boot was being pressed against his lungs as his uncle began to rant and rave. 

"Happy fucking birthday, you piece of shit faggot. Since you're now eighteen, you have access to your little trust fund your deceased daddy made for you before you murdered him. But.. I will be keeping it frozen until you end your pathetic excuse of a life. Then, I will keep it all for myself. I won't even give you a proper burial. Just tell 'em to burn you so you'll get to hell faster." 

Zemo seemed to want a response from the nearly passed out boy beneath him. But all Bucky could do was open his mouth the slightest bit and gasp for air. His uncle, feeling unsatisfied with the lack of reply, stomped on his chest with the same heavy, reinforced boot that had been crushing him, and spit on his face. 

"I hope I find an unmoving body next time I come up here. Or better yet, you drive off the side of a highway like I know you've always wanted to. Option number two is less messy for me, but you can take your pick, faggot." 

All he could see was darkness coming in from his peripheral, slowly encompassing his vision with a blanket of shadows. He couldn't hear much, but what he did hear was the sound of retreating footsteps.   
Guess he didn't spend his birthday alone after all. 

He woke from his slumber what he guessed must've been an hour or two later. His chest hurt so much he could barely pull in the smallest breaths of air to help him survive. He wouldn't let himself be a complete loser, so he somehow willed himself to his feet and closed the door as softly as he possibly could. He made sure to wipe the spit off his face with a random shirt he found lying on the floor before flopping face first into bed and groaning when his chest made contact with it. His chest hurt so bad not only because it got crushed and stomped on, but because heartbreak was real, and a bitch. He felt the mass amount of tears escaping his eyes begin to quickly to drench his pillow. So much so that he had to flip it over after ten or so minutes. Sobs continuously wracked his body and shook him to his core as the night went on and he got even more depressed and su- 

His uncle somehow knew about him wanting to drive off the side of the highway.. How he knew was a mystery to him, but.. maybe the guy- monster was right. Maybe it was time that he unburdened everyone's lives around him and took the fifty foot plunge. It'd sure save Steve a whole lotta pain and misery him staying around caused him. But on the other hand, if he was in Steve's shoes and he committed suicide.. well, as sad as it sounds, he'd follow his path to the craggy rocks below. 

He manages to push away the tempting thoughts of sneaking out at that very moment and driving to the nearest windy road, jerking the wheel to the left and.. and. 

-

It was the day Steve was turning eighteen, and Bucky wanted to be anywhere but school. He nearly skipped out completely, but knew that if he did, he'd be facing much worse consequences than a few bruised ribs and lungs that wouldn't work properly for hours- sometimes days. So he put on a brave face - his mask - and entered hell. 

First thing he saw was the boy taking books out of his locker, trying to balance all four of them and a stack of papers in his arms without dropping them. It'd be the perfect chance to show him just how little he cares about him, help keep up the act after how easy he's been going on him lately. Lately being just last week. 

He silently walked across the hall until he got to his target, his ex-best friend, then stood behind him until he turned to face him. The look of fear and pain in his eyes. Bucky smirked, trying his best not to break down and.. and do god knows what as he slapped the books and papers out of his hands, watched them float high above his head before they scattered across the smooth, dirty floor of the hallway. 

"Aw, did I do that?" He stuck out his bottom lip, fighting hard to keep up the douchebag act. "Well happy fucking birthday you disgusting faggot." He shoved Steve into the lockers, wincing himself when the boy's back made contact with the lock on one of them and he cried out in pain. He didn't fight back, nor did any tears escape his eyes as he stood hunched over, Bucky's strong hands pressing his shoulders into the lockers with all the strength he possessed in his six-foot tall frame. 

"Y-you.." the boy struggled to form words. "You _monster_." 

Knowing it and actually hearing it are two entirely different things. He knew he had become a monster, a carbon copy of his uncle. He'd become Steve's.. _abuser_ , something he never wanted to admit to himself. A bully was an abuser, and nothing short of being the lowest of the low. He was a snakes belly button, an insult he heard Mr. Wilson throwing around when he was cleaning the boy's bathroom the other day. 

"I.." he grit his teeth, practically grinding them together. "I may be a monster, but at least I'm not gay like you are. I'm not a disgrace, a mistake made by the hands of god. You used to have wrestling going for you, but now you're not even number two on the team.. _I_ , Bucky Barnes, am better than you in every conceivable way. And you are hardly any better than skinny old Pietro and his weak, fragile little sister, Wanda." 

"You're.. you're _lying_ , Bucky. The guy I knew, the one who always told me how much he loved and cared about me, would never do or say such things. He'd never lay a hand on me. **Ever**. So tell me, who are you really?" 

"Your worst nightmare." He replied, releasing his hold on the boy's shoulders to fist his hands in the fabric of his hoodie and shove him to the ground. "I hope you and your ancient replacement dad have a nice day together. Oh wait.. he's out of town for _another_ business trip, isn't he? Bet you miss it when I'd use such an opportunity to slither in through your bedroom window and.. into you, eh? Well, anyways, I'm really not surprised he's missing your birthday, your special one eight. He never did care for you the way you always wished he would." 

"H-how did you know he's out of town?" Steve sniffled, shifting around from being sprawled across the floor to sitting up against the lockers. 

"I'm what you'd call observant," he smirked, almost believing the despicable words coming from his mouth. "See ya at practice later, Stevie. So can't wait to bruise that smooth, pale skin of yours you keep hidden from my eyes most days." He called over his shoulder, trying not to look at the damaged boy he left in his wake as he headed toward his first class of the day.   
Mr. Stark would no doubt notice how.. off he was on this particular day. 

If he stayed out till nine o'clock driving down the highway and contemplating ending his life, well, no one was there to bear witness to his inner struggles. No one but God himself saw the way his fingers twitched on the wheel whenever a sharp twist or turn came up. He contemplated, but he didn't commit. He was far too cowardly to do such a thing. Maybe even a little optimistic.


End file.
